


Moment

by ultragirlvfr750



Category: Major Crimes (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2015-05-14
Packaged: 2018-03-30 14:27:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3940258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultragirlvfr750/pseuds/ultragirlvfr750
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fritz and Sharon from Sharon's perspective</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moment

**Author's Note:**

> I was playing around with the idea of Fritz and Sharon as a couple and this sort of wrote itself. The format is deliberate. It's like a prose poem. Stream of consciousness.

“It’s so beautiful here,” she says to the dark. This moment. This moment now. On a balcony out in the Mexican air. Sharon in a burgundy satin slip. Bare feet. Wisp of panties forgotten. Torn and tossed at the onset of the evening. The warm is like velvet. The breeze smells sweet. She stands leaning against the railing. Thinking. Simply thinking. About Ricky. And Emily. Now Rusty. Runs her fingers through her hair. Sighs. Slides her hands over her own curves. Feeling the heft of her breasts. Firm but falling. The bounce turned to sag with the weight of her young self leaving. Where is that woman? The idealistic lawyer? Then police recruit? New officer? The champion of women’s rights? In the workplace. On all the front lines. Because she never wanted Emily to think all she could be was second best. Because she never wanted Ricky to think being a boy meant he was by default the best. When she was in it she didn’t think of the toll it took. But looking back she sees it now. What it meant to be loathed each day. Hostility. Suspicion. Officers saluting but whispering ‘bitch’. And then to go home to a drunk who taunted. Barely registering the verbal abuse. Then later in the dark when he put his hands on her. Or tried. No wonder sex had become a minefield. Something to be endured. Not loved. And now as her hands travel the expanse. The softness of the spread of her belly. Her breath hitches in her throat. The stars double. Treble. As she views them through the lens of unshed tears.This is her body now. Strong but tired. Her legs long but scarred. Shoulders sprinkled with freckles. Beauty marks. Age. Her brow wrinkled. Thinking. Rusty. The boy she rescued from Brenda. Brenda who had every intention of keeping up her end of the deal. Maybe just keeping up with him. But she never did. Because that was Brenda. Just plain Brenda. The woman who leaves in her wake a trail of broken promises. And friends. And husbands. And hearts. Even now Sharon wonders how she stacks up as one of those broken pieces. Tonight in the soft Mexican air she feels her age. She feels as though all the good years were taken up. With the children. Internal Affairs. And Jackson’s raging. His quiet strangling presence even when he was gone. And Brenda. All Brenda’s mistakes piling up in stacks of files. In lawsuits. And leaving. Behind her in the room is another of Brenda’s broken left behind people. What can she possibly offer Fritz Howard? He is younger than her. His skin still firm. When he is hard against her and biting her neck she can pretend to be young. She can feel it. Free. But alone. Out here. On the balcony she feels husked out and tired. Graceless. She sighs. They shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t be here. Their start. It was an accident. A look. A brush of a hand over files. A phone call. Late night in her office. She can’t untangle how they came to the first kiss. Only the remembrance that once it began she couldn’t make it end. Didn’t want it to end. It shouldn’t be her when it could be someone younger. Someone who could give him a child. A true second start. She can smell him before she feels him. Musk. And spice. And she knows he tastes of fresh peppermint. His arms snake around her body. Possessive. His palms flat against her belly. Caressing. Sliding them up to cup her breasts. Murmuring low. His lips on the shell of her ear. His thumbs on her nipples in circles. Almost as though he loves the feel and the heft of her breasts. “What is making you so quiet tonight?” She can’t help herself. She falls back against his chest. The vibration of his voice against her back. It falls back and away. Her resolve. To end things between them.To tell him it’s over. Crumbles with every kiss along her neck. “God woman. I want you. Do you have an idea how much I want you?”. She doesn’t. But she does because she can feel the length of him hard against her. She rubs softly against him. Then with more force. He moans. His fingers still. Then tweaks her nipples. She whines low in the back of her throat. Twists in his arms.To face him. His eyes dark and searching. In the muted glow from the balcony torches. "Let me take you to bed”. His voice is low. Full of desire. “Why me?” Her question sounds at once breathless. Ridiculous. Important. His desire pressing against her not enough. Not enough if his wanting is only him healing. In the arms of a woman who knows. Intimately. Because Brenda broke her too. "Lord woman don’t you know? It’s you. It’s always been you. You tucked your hair behind your ear. And that little wave. I watched. And held the door. And waited for my moment”. She kisses him then. Hard. Her hands grip his shoulders. Nails digging in. Her lips pressed against the side of his mouth. "Tell me again and I’ll believe you”. He sweeps her up in an instant. As if she weighs nothing. “Sharon. I’m done waiting for my moment.” Carries her. Stepping backward into the darkness of the room beyond. She closes her eyes. Breathing. “You’re so beautiful,” he says. This moment. And this moment now. She falls with him. Into the softness of the bed. Cradled. Leaving behind. All of their broken things.


End file.
